


The Weight of a Simple Human Emotion

by DesertLily



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Bittersweet, Elf!Jaskier, Geralt is emotionally constipated, Hurt Jaskier, Hurt/Comfort, Kinda, Love Confessions, M/M, Sickfic, Terminal Illness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-22
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:14:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23253796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DesertLily/pseuds/DesertLily
Summary: Jaskier had known he was dying for a long time. He just never quite worked out how to tell Geralt
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 379





	The Weight of a Simple Human Emotion

**Author's Note:**

> I got a fic request for ‘Geraskier Hurt/Comfort’ on tumblr and it may have spiralled out of control. It was very hard not to name this fic after a lyric from ‘Little Fall of Rain’

It had started with a tightness in his chest. A feeling of uncomfortableness that never seemed to quite go away. It was accompanied by a breathlessness that came and went more frequently that Jaskier from the beds of nobility. The symptoms were familiar to him - even if he tried to deny it. Jaskier had seen them in his mother as a child; he had seen her suffer and fade away as she paid the price for the elvish blood that ran through both of their veins. Seeing how she had grown weaker and weaker over time had been the most terrifying thing he had ever seen. No monster he faced with Geralt had ever even come close. After the death of his mother, his father had searched high and low for any sort of assurance that the same thing wouldn’t happen to Jaskier; that he would be okay. The Viscount had been assured that the elvish blood within his son was diluted enough that he wouldn’t have to worry about any such complications. They had been wrong. They had been so wrong. For once, Jaskier was glad his father had passed; he wouldn’t want him to go through the pain of watching another family member fade away. 

Of course, Jaskier never mentioned the fate of his mother or his elvish blood in all the years he travelled with Geralt. It didn’t seem important! Why would it be? He wasn’t supposed to get sick, right? Besides, the Witcher already had enough reasons to be grumpy without unnecessarily worrying about Jaskier’s health. So he kept his problems to himself. He began playing shorter and shorter sets whenever they stayed in an inn; claiming it was simply to keep the audience wanting more. The reality was trying to do longer sets left him breathless and wheezy. As much as Jaskier loved performing, it just wasn’t as easy anymore and that terrified him. Music was his life; his passion. If there was no music then there was no Jaskier. It was a fact of life. But he endured. He survived like he always did. 

The next symptom seemed to be his coordination. It was like his brain and his limbs no longer wanted to cooperate as he found himself stumbling or tripping over thin air. Thankfully, Geralt didn’t seem to suspect anything of it. If anything, he seemed amused at how clumsy the bard had become. It was oddly reassuring for Jaskier. Having someone to tease and joke with whilst acting like nothing wrong was enough for him to convince himself that  _ maybe  _ everything would be fine. Maybe it was all coincidental. Maybe it was nothing serious after all. Though, even he knew that was just wishful thinking. 

It was when he lost his hunger that Jaskier really began to accept that things were going downhill. Slowly but surely, he lost any form of appetite. It got to the point where the sheer prospect of eating made his stomach churn or when he did eat, it felt like he was always gambling for the possibility that he wouldn’t have to slip away to throw up. By some miracle, he managed to hide it from Geralt. The Witcher either didn’t notice something was wrong with Jaskier or he was choosing to ignore it. The only one who really seemed to notice anything was wrong with him was Roach. The horse seemed to have developed a habit of nudging him gently; as if she were trying to check he was alright. Jaskier couldn’t help but smile every time she did. “I’m fine, girl.” He always whispered softly to her. “Just a little under the weather.” It was equal parts a lie and an understatement. 

When the fever hit, it grew even harder to hide. It was autumn. There was no viable reason for Jaskier to be as hot and bothered as he was. He attempted to brush it off as a cold caught from the last town they’d visited but he knew he couldn’t use that excuse forever. It was far too temporary, but was there really a better one? It wasn’t like he could just go ‘Hey, Geralt! Please ignore my fever! I’m just dying because of my Elvish blood! Nothing to worry about here!’ Jaskier severely doubted Geralt would believe him for even a second. It would just cause unnecessary fussing. 

Of course, attempting to hide it didn’t last forever. In all honesty, Jaskier couldn’t quite remember how it happened. One moment he had been teasing Geralt in their room at their latest inn, the next he found himself splayed on the floor with a concerned Witcher staring down at him. He was vaguely aware of someone shouting his name. “...’ralt?” He found himself slurring his name slightly. 

“Jaskier! What happened? Are you alright?” Jaskier couldn’t help but think if it got this level of an emotional response from Geralt then maybe he should have made a habit of collapsing more often. Though all thoughts like that left his mind as the world around him grew dark. 

When Jaskier woke up, he was sprawled out on a bed with someone clutching his hand with an iron grip. Opening his eyes confirmed that said person was in fact Geralt of Rivia. An almost-smile crosses his face at that. “Hey.” He managed to murmur softly. 

Instantly, the Witcher turned his attention to him. Geralt’s cat-like eyes narrowed as he stared down at him. “Damn it, Jaskier. You’re supposed to tell me when something’s wrong. You’re...You’re not supposed to get like this!” 

“I didn’t want to worry you.” Jaskier managed to shrug slightly, pushing himself to sit out. “You look too sad when you worry. It makes you even less likely than usual to smile - and I happen to know that you, you grump, have a wonderful smile.” He tried to talk as if nothing was wrong; as if he hadn’t passed out; as if he wasn’t dying. “But this was inevitable, anyways. It didn’t seem important to bring up. 

Geralt’s grip on his hand tightened. “What do you mean it’s inevitable?” His voice seemed right at that. It sounded more serious than usual. That on its own was an achievement. It was rare that Jaskier ever heard him being anything other than a serious grump. 

He was quiet for a few moments - probably too long. Then Jaskier took a deep breath. “...I have elvish blood, Geralt. Same as my mother. When I was a child, she began to get sick due to it. Really sick until she...died. It seems like I might share her fate.” His voice was soft and tentative. 

“No.” Geralt’s voice was decisive. “You’re not allowed to die. We’ll find a cure or I’ll contact Yenn or Triss or-“

“Geralt.” Jaskier cut him off. “There’s no cure to this. I’ve made peace with the fact I’m going to die.” He assured, hesitantly reaching out for the Witcher. Much to his surprise, Geralt let him as he pulled the bard into a gentle hug. “I’m sorry.”

Geralt held Jaskier gently - as if he were something fragile on the verge of breaking. “It’s not supposed to end this way. I’m supposed to have more time with you. I have too many things I’m supposed to tell you.”

Jaskier moved to gently brush a few white strands out of Geralt’s face. “And what would they be?” 

“I have...feelings for you, Jaskier. Feelings that go beyond friendship.” As always, Geralt struggled to articulate his feelings. But Jaskier found himself speechless for a few moments. It felt surreal. 

“..You bastard.” Jaskier whispered, sighing. “Now you tell me. I’ve been in love with you for years, Geralt. Why do you think I spend so much of my time flirting with you?” 

Geralt looked almost sheepish at that. “...I just assumed that was your personality, or that it was just your nature to flirt with everyone. I...I didn’t realise…” 

“That’s because you, my dear Witcher, are an idiot.” To his surprise, Geralt let out a soft laugh at that. It was...nice. Jaskier never got to hear him laugh often. There was something reassuring about it. 

Geralt grew quiet for a few moments, content in just holding Jaskier in his arms. Neither said anything for a while and both were comfortable with the silence. Then he broke it. “...How long?” 

Jaskier sighed at that. “At this stage? A few hours. A couple of days, if I’m lucky.” He closed his eyes for a few moments. “...Kiss me?” 

Geralt didn’t even hesitate before pressing their lips together. “I can’t lose you, little lark. Not yet.” He whispered with true fear in his voice; fear unlike any Jaskier had heard before. “Not now.” 

“You’ll always have me with you. There’s my songs that will be around to annoy you forever and your memories. I hope you don’t fall into the habit of forgetting me.” He let out a humourless laugh at that. “Stay with me? Until the end?” 

“I would have stayed with you forever, if you would have let me.” One of Geralt’s hands moved to play with Jaskier’s hair, soothing the bard. 

“Sing to me.” It wasn’t a request but a demand. 

A wry smile seemed to form on Geralt’s lips as he began to sing softly. “When a humble bard…” Jaskier couldn’t stop himself from laughing at that. 

When his time came, Jaskier died feeling loved and truly content. Whilst it was scarcely played, Geralt of Rivia kept his lute for the rest of. His long life. 

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? Comments are always appreciated or hmu @ desert-lily on tumblr! I also take fic requests there!


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